Buddha’s Golden Years

He was squat and round like the Happy Buddha.

He no longer had a care in the world,

yet he worried about everything.

We met in a place called home-his home.

I was a child entrusted with the care of a human being,

A beautiful bald headed, confused little man

who once upon a time had his own life, cares that mattered,

and a vote in his own destiny.

He spent life as a carny, raising roller-skating monkeys.

He could barely tell me anything about them through the haze and worry

of the dementia that was killing him far faster than anything else that plagued him.

His family no longer visited.

His monkey friends were long gone.

A sixteen year old stranger sat at his bedside

while he lay dying.

I cried for his loss and mine.

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